


Deep As The Sky

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Election Day Part 1, Episode: s07e16 Election Day Part I, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Sexy Times, bow chicka bow wow, donna moss - Freeform, josh lyman - Freeform, nervous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-06 09:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16385771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: A gauntlet thrown, a choice made, take a leap and wait to see if he follows.





	1. Chapter 1

My legs are shaking so badly as I walk to the elevator, I'm surprised that I don't fall over. I let out a breath; I desperately want to look behind me, to see if he's following me, but I force myself to only watch where I'm going. If he's not following me, I'm not sure if I want to know right away.

As I'm reaching out to press the button on the elevator, I see Josh come to a stop next to me out of my peripheral vision. My body relaxes, only to tense up again an instant later. He's here. He's actually here.

His breath rustles my hair; he's standing so close to me that I can feel the heat coming off his body. I can smell his aftershave and soap, somehow, inexplicably, despite how many hours he's been up and going today. It's familiar and comforting, and it grounds me even as it makes me lightheaded. He doesn't say anything, though, and it's unnerving. Josh isn't typically the still and silent type, and now, of all times, when I could use a bit of normalcy, he's acting as out of character as I am.

The elevator doors slide open with a _ding_ and I step inside, taking shelter in the corner. I watch him nervously, waiting to see if he'll actually go through with it this time. He strides in almost immediately, pushing the button to his floor before leaning next to me, his hand sliding behind my back. He doesn't quite hold me, but it feels oddly possessive all the same. I don't hate it. I let myself relax a little against his side, the contact reassuring even as it ignites me.

I stare at the elevator display, willing the thing to go faster. I've waited too long for this; I don't need anything else slowing us down.

I fight the urge to look over at him, but I can't help but wonder how he can be so casual about this right now. He's so laid back and at ease, and it's nauseating. I guess I'm alone in this, but this is kind of a big deal. Everything is about to change and he looks like he's about to go decide what he wants for dinner.

The elevator doors slide open again and he puts his hand on my back, his touch feather-light as he guides me out into the hallway. I want to literally run to his room—appearances be damned—but his pace is something slower than a saunter. He's so calm about all this, it truly is disgusting. Still, I force myself to keep my pace slow. It's agony, though. We're this close and it's almost like we're moving in reverse. He digs around in his pocket for a few moments as we approach his room, seemingly having trouble finding his key, and it's the only indication at the moment that this whole situation is getting to him. I don't want either of us to feel nervous, but it's almost a relief to know this is affecting him, too.

He fumbles with the key, staring at it as if it holds the answers to the questions of the universe, and I fight every urge I have to take it from him and unlock the damn door myself. I don't know why these key cards stymie him every time, but for as long as I've known him, he's had the worst time trying to figure them out. I'm sure it has a lot to do with his lack of patience in a most regards, and resistance to change—I have no idea how many times I've listened to him lament over the years about the loss of actual keys in favor of plastic cards, but it was more than once and therefore too many times. It occurs to me that his lack of patience in the small matters might translate to what we're about to do, and that horrifies me a little. I'm mostly sure it won't be the case, but that doesn't stop a few unappealing thoughts from running through my head.

I take a deep breath—I need to center myself. I know from personal experience that too much thinking can be a great way to ruin sex. I have no interest in changing my mind, but I have even less interest in my brain kicking into high gear right now, forcing me to over-think every tiny aspect of my life and taking me out of this moment.

My arm stretches out and, for once, I don't let myself stop before taking his hand in mine. It's something that I've reached out to do a million times over the years, and something that I've never really let myself do, at least not when I worked for him. It seems so personal and familiar that, no matter how close we've been, I haven't been able to convince myself it's appropriate, not between a boss and his assistant. Now, though, there doesn't seem to be any reason to stop. I slide my fingers through his, my heart stuttering and tripping over itself at the way it feels. He looks up at me, eyes wide, the only crack I've seen in his cool exterior so far, and I smile at him tremulously, squeezing his fingers. A strange look comes over his face and shoves the card into the lock, waiting patiently for the light to turn green before pushing the door open. He looks up at me again and holds the door, waiting. I squeeze his fingers again before letting it go, stepping tentatively into his hotel room.

My heart starts to pound. I'm in Josh's room. Not in the way I used to hang out in his hotel rooms, occasionally packing his clothes or reading his schedule or returning his personal calls or any other number of things that were probably way beyond the scope of an actual assistant, but in a way that adults attracted to each other do. My stomach actually knots up for a few seconds before I force myself to relax. This is such a big deal, but the last thing I want is to actually make it into a big deal. I want to have sex; I want to have sex with Josh. Right now, in this moment, it doesn't have to be more than that.

Except I know that's a lie. It doesn't have to be a promise of forever, but I can't talk myself into believing it's not important. We've known each other too long and have been on this edge for more years than is healthy for this to not mean more than just a way to relieve some tension. I've never done this on the campaign trail before—that part was definitely true. For so many reasons, hooking up with someone while on the road like that just seemed like a horrible decision. The first time around, I was just getting out of a terrible relationship and was only interested in trying to help get someone elected. The second go-round, well, I couldn't really imagine doing that with anyone other than Josh—if nothing else because I trust him like I trust no other—and since he wasn't an option, I didn't want to risk it with someone else. And now…now I still don't want to consider this a "hook up" that we'll be able to walk away from like it didn't happen. I don't want to come on board, I don't want a campaign fling, I want to satisfy this craving I've had for almost a decade. This is our time—finally, after everything, this is for us. There are no more excuses.

I hear the door click shut behind me and can actually sense Josh walking toward me. Trying to appear casual, I lean forward and toss my sweater on the bed, as if this is something we do all the time. I confuse myself in that moment, though, because how can I want to appear casual while knowing this is such a huge deal? It can't be both.

His hand settles on my hip and my entire body jumps to attention; I'm sure he couldn't miss it. Before I can lose my nerve, I turn and face him. His face is hard to see—the only light in the room is coming from the bathroom. Everything is bathed in shadows. It feels surreal.

We step toward each other at the same time, and my arms come up without any conscious decision on my part, wrapping around his neck. His hands wrap around my waist, holding me close to him. I hear him breathe out heavily through his nose; part of me really wishes I could see his face clearly right now. The rest of me is grateful to have the shadows, hoping my inhibitions will lower under the cover of darkness.

Still in tandem, we lean in, our lips meeting in a soft kiss. It's gentle and innocent, mouths carefully pressed together, and it makes me feel like everything is on fire. I can't believe this is only the second time we've kissed. Over the last few weeks, I've so badly wanted to corner him and make out until we were both weak in the knees. That might have sent him running for the hills, which is a large part of the reason I never actually did it. But I wanted to make sure the first time wasn't a fluke, that it wasn't just the novelty of kissing someone who's been effectively off-limits for years…I wanted to see if he'd look at me that way again.

I'm suddenly overcome with the need for more. I tighten my hold on him, letting my lips part, and he responds immediately. His tongue moves gently but insistently against mine, the taste of the liquor he just downed faint in his mouth, mixed with the gallons of coffee he's consumed today and a flavor that can only be Josh. It's heady and…delicious, and completely addictive. A tiny moan I can't even begin to control escapes me, the sound muffled in his mouth. My knees give slightly; I tighten my arms, running my hands through his thick, unruly hair. He steers me backward, the mattress hitting the backs of my knees at just the right spot that I start to collapse. He follows me, though, not letting me drop, and we sit mostly side by side on the bed, our bodies angled awkwardly toward each other.

I shift onto my hip, moving myself closer to him, my leg crossing over his. I rub my foot across his covered leg, surprised that it sends tingles through my body. His hand slides down my leg, grabbing the back of my knee to pull it across his lap. I can't help but smile as I try to press myself closer to him. His touch is light, gentle, and entirely erotic. He grabs my high heel and pulls it carefully from my foot, tossing it somewhere away from us. I shudder as he lightly traces his fingers over the arch of my foot.

I finally break away from him, gasping. My mind is swirling—the combination of kissing Josh and lack of oxygen is making me lightheaded. Even though my eyes have adjusted to the low light of the room, I still can't read his expression.

…No, wait; maybe I can. It's just not something that's ever been aimed at me before. The look is predatory and possessive, full of lust and desire. His eyes are dark—probably darker than ambient light calls for, and I feel my heart hammer in response. I can tell it wouldn't take much to be completely swept away by him, to let him take control of the whole evening, to lie back and let him peel away my layers and completely give in to him. It's tempting. It's damn tempting, but I don't want him to ever doubt that I was a willing, active participant in this.

I have to get some sort of control over myself.

I swallow heavily, shifting so that I can drape both of my legs across his lap. I can see his eyes grow wide and it makes me smile, even as my foot taps nervously against him. He grabs my other shoe and tosses it across the room; I feel so wobbly all of a sudden and I brace my hands on the bed behind me, hoping not to fall. He licks his lips, sending shivers down my spine, and his hand slides slowly up my leg. His fingers toy with the hem of my skirt for a just a second before they disappear under the material. Almost simultaneously, he leans forward, his mouth attaching to my neck. I'm so surprised by it that I can't move. He sucks carefully at my skin, his teeth grazing over me, nipping every so often, and it makes me jump. He kisses his way down to my chest, his hand gripping onto my thigh. I finally pull myself together enough to tug at the back of his head. He pulls away slowly and smiles at me lazily; it takes everything I have to not completely jump him. I'm not entirely sure why I'm fighting that urge right now, other than as much as I want him, I want to savor this experience more. I don't know if this is our first time or our only time, but I want to be able to remember it.

I lean down and kiss him, and he returns it slowly, exploring my mouth the way his hand is exploring under my skirt; one millimeter at a time. It's agonizing and completely perfect. I grab at his tie, enjoying the way the silk feels against my fingers for a few moments before I tug at it, pulling it loose and tossing it over my shoulder. I shift my legs again, accidentally brushing against his burgeoning erection. It almost makes my head explode—I've never felt him excited for me. I've never felt him excited, period. My toes tingle at the thought of it. I feel the pit of my stomach flutter. I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, finding it difficult to pull them open while my hands are shaking so badly. I can only hope he doesn't notice—not because I want to hide my desire for him, but because I don't want him to think I'm desperate or deprived.

It takes far too long but I manage to pull his shirt out of his pants, and he removes his hand from my leg, pulling off his shirt and tossing it…somewhere. His arms immediately go around me, tilting me back until we're lying on the bed, my legs still draped over his lap. As we settle into this new position, he pulls back from me, an unreadable look in his eye. I lick my lips, tasting him there, and run a hand through his hair. It's such a simple thing, but I've always been curious about how it would feel. Considering the professional environment he works in, it never looks like he so much as runs a comb through it. I honestly couldn't say at this point if he even owns a comb. His hair is curly and wavy and stands up in every direction, and I'm finding that it's not at all coarse or bristly. Actually, it's unbelievably soft, the strands slipping through my fingers like water, and a deep part of my brain finds it vaguely obnoxious that he barely remembers to wash it and it's so touchable. Men.

He groans suddenly, leaning into my touch before kissing me again, his lips hard against mine. We press closer to each other somehow, though I don't know how that's possible at this point. I feel like I'm on the verge of crawling under his skin. I can't get close enough. I feel his hand on my side, his fingers stroking so lightly it almost tickles, just before he moves his hand under my shirt. I think my entire body erupts in goosebumps. His touch is electric, and everywhere he touches feels like it's on fire.

I pull at his undershirt and he lifts himself up enough to yank it off. I reach up, tracing my fingers over his chest. He's nicely defined, the muscles firm but his skin so soft. He pushes at the bottom of my shirt, bunching it up to just under my bra. He lets out a long breath and drops down, pressing his mouth to my stomach. My eyes go wide at the sensation. I'm sure my stomach has been kissed before at some point in my life, but if it has, it sure as hell never felt like this. This is the most intense sensation I've ever felt. I grab his head to hold him there. I'm not entirely sure what he's doing at the moment—I just know I never want it end.

Suddenly, my entire body feels like it's overheating, my clothes almost suffocating me. I grab the bottom of my sweater and pull it over my head, tossing it toward the foot of the bed. He props himself up on his hands, staring at me in fascination. I suppose that's fair—I don't think he's ever seen me in even a bathing suit. "Jesus," he breathes. His hand comes up, hovering over my breast, filling me with anticipation. My back arches toward him, my body actually aching for his touch. Agonizing moments later, his fingers trace over me, feather light. I think I'm going to combust. His head drops again, his lips pressing carefully to my other breast, and I gasp, screwing my eyes shut. For a few second, I actually think I'm going to cry. His touch is almost reverent; it's so gentle and delicate, and like nothing I've felt before. Up to now, most of my experiences with guys and my breasts have been for them to grope at me furiously, twisting and turning them like they're removable, until I can dislodge and distract them, or they've only sort of noticed them, moving onto the main event. No one's touched me in quite this way before. I hold his head again to keep him in place, but also so that I can compose myself.


	2. Chapter 2

He shifts a little and I move my legs from is lap, both of us readjusting until I'm on my back, his body resting mostly on top of me. His mouth explores me, nipping and sucking at each breast in turn, paying attention to every inch in between, until he moans and buries his face in my cleavage. I can feel his tongue on my skin. His fingers hook in my bra straps, pulling them down my shoulders. I dig my fingers into his back, stroking as much skin as I can find. I can feel his muscles bunching and shifting as he moves; it fascinates me. I push the palms of my hands into them, trying to release the tension I can feel, the tension that's probably always a part of him. He goes back and forth, pushing at the cups of my bra with his nose, slowly nudging it out of the way, his lips caressing every single bit of skin he reveals. I feel his fingers on my back, searching for the clasp of my bra.

I gasp and sit up, effectively dislodging him. I was getting swept away—far too easily swept away—and it's not difficult to imagine all of this being over before it begins. I just need a few moments to regroup. And, I'm a little ashamed to admit, being naked in front of someone can be nerve wracking, and I think I just need a little more time before we get there.

"Donna…" he breathes, sitting up, too, and I look at him over my shoulder. His eyes are huge, his chest heaving, and he looks absolutely panicked. My heart immediately goes out to him. He hasn't done anything wrong. In fact, it's because he's doing everything extraordinarily right that I need just a little bit of time. I reach out and cup his cheek, running my thumb over his stubble, and lean in to kiss him for a moment before I slide off the bed. I readjust my bra straps, thinking for a moment. I want to let him know that he's doing things well, but I also need a little bit of control over the situation.

I reach to my skirt, finding the zipper tab, tugging at it unsuccessfully. That's not surprising, considering how violently my hands are shaking. I look over my shoulder at him, smiling a little in embarrassment. "My skirt's getting wrinkled," I tell him, not sure where that came from. It's true—without a doubt it's true—but it's certainly not something I considered until just now.

Before I can blink, he's standing behind me, his fingers on my skirt, tugging at the zipper a few times until it finally gives way, the material falling in a puddle around me. Everything in me tenses as I realize all over again that I'm mostly naked in front of him. I'm not sure what I'm so worked up about. I've been naked in front of a man before. I've fantasized repeatedly about being naked in front of Josh, but the reality of it is completely different. I'm actually terrified that he won't find me appealing, even though, rationally, I know that's ridiculous. I glance down at myself, cringing when I realize I'm not even wearing a matching set of underwear. Of course, it's not as if I planned on this when I got dressed this morning. I guess it's cute enough, and at least it's relatively new so—

He puts his hands on my shoulders and I shudder, pulling myself from my self-doubts. I can feel his fingertips moving across my skin, lightly at first, but gradually exploring with more confidence. He pushes my hair over my shoulder, his lips suddenly on my neck, and my head tilts automatically to give him better access. His hands trace down my sides and I jump a little in surprise, then he grabs my hips, pulling me firmly against him. His moan drowns out my own, the feel of his erection pushing against me insistently almost doing me in. I cover his hands with mine, breathing deeply for a few moments before I pull his arms around me. His fingers run over my stomach, moving lower with each pass, and I step out of his arms, looking at him over my shoulder.

Something about feeling how turned on he is right now fills me with confidence. I probably shouldn't have doubted this before, but now there's no question of how much he wants me. Even though my body is completely on edge, strung so tightly it feels like it could snap at any second, part of me relaxes a little. This is supposed to be fun. I wasn't this nervous the first time I had sex—there's no need to be so bent out of shape about it this time, even if it's with someone I care about a whole hell of a lot more.

"My skirt's still getting wrinkled," I tell him, bending over suggestively to pick it up. It's not a move I've ever really tried to pull off, but his eyes slam shut and his fists clench, so I'd say it's pretty effective. I shake out the skirt and drape it over the foot of the bed, turning to face him. He stares at me, his mouth open a little, and I can see his chest moving rapidly. A million different things rush through me at his reaction, making my body tingle all over. Feeling bolder than ever, I reach out and pull at his belt buckle, tugging at it until it opens, my fingers plucking at the button on his pants. Because it's dark it's hard for me to be completely sure, but I'd swear the tent in his pants gets even more pronounced. Eagerly, I grab at his zipper, barely getting my fingers around it before his hand clamps on my wrist. I lift my eyebrow, looking up at him, and even in the low lighting I can see that his eyes are wild, his expression desperate, and I let go of the zipper. He tugs it down a moment later, managing to take off his shoes and socks off with his pants.

My breath catches in my throat, and I can't help but stare at him in his boxers, the front of them stretched almost to the breaking point. I can only see a very vague outline at the moment, but I'm fairly positive that he's magnificent. I take a step toward him, biting my lip as he presses into my abdomen. My insides itch for him I want him so badly.

He reaches out to me, running his fingers over the top of the pantyhose I'd forgotten I was wearing. "Are these the expensive ones?"

I'm sure the surprise is obvious on my face. How on earth would Josh Lyman know or care if pantyhose come in expensive and inexpensive varieties? "No," I manage to whisper, and I'm saved from wondering how he knows there's a difference because he immediately yanks mine down, the delicate material tearing like tissue paper under his eager hands. He falls to his knees as he keeps pulling at them, and I hold onto his shoulders as I step out of decimated nylons. He makes a strangled noise, and I realize where his eyes are trained. My own arousal isn't as evident as his, but I'm sure, from his current vantage point, there's no doubt in his mind that the feeling is mutual. He leans in, his lips sliding low across my stomach, his teeth nibbling at every bit of skin they can grab. I make a strange mewling noise, my eyes falling shut. I grab onto his head again, keeping him in place. I'll give him about a year to stop this.

He shifts position, paying homage to my body as he stands. He buries his face in my chest again, breathing heavily, and it makes me laugh just a little. I didn't realize he'd be such a guy in this respect. I wrap my arms around him, running my fingers everywhere I can reach. Part of me wants to take my time and explore every single bit there is of him. It would be amazing. I'd love to get to know all the parts that have been hidden from me for so long. The rest of me knows I can't wait that long. Not after all this time, not right now, not when I feel like if I rub my thighs together a little, I'll have the orgasm of the century.

I feel his hands on the clasp of my bra again, but he makes no move to open it. I suppose he's already unsure about this particular part, since I shut him down just a few minutes ago. All I can do is sigh; I don't want to stop him this time. The material already feels like it's binding me. He latches onto my neck and unhooks my bra with ease. The cool air of the hotel room hits my overheated skin as the bra falls away from. He straightens himself up completely, the bra going with him, and it's tossed onto the pile of clothes on the bed. I feel uncomfortable for all of maybe a second before his mouth drops open. He stares at me in awe, and it makes me feel self-conscious in a whole different way. I can live with this feeling, though.

His hands are on me suddenly, stroking and caressing my breasts, holding them in his hands as if they're going to break. His thumbs brush over my nipples and I whimper. I never imagined just the simple act of someone running their fingers over my breasts would make me weak in the knees. The sensation has always been pleasant before, but nothing like this. He leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to stay upright. His teeth scrape at me, his tongue following immediately to sooth me. He switches to the other one, giving it the same attention as the first. His eyes are closed, his expression one of contentment. He has one hand on my hip, keeping me close; the other hand kneads at my breast, his touch becoming rough, though not at all unwelcome.

I push him away a little while I still can and grab the sides of his face, pulling him toward me. I kiss him as hard as I can. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, and I become acutely aware of his erection trapped between us. I manage to get one of my hands between us, dragging my nails down his chest. He jerks violently against me, though he holds me tighter to him. I grab the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down over his hips. Just a moment later, I feel him come free, his hard, silky flesh rubbing against my stomach. I smile at the sensation.

I maneuver my hand between our bodies again, trailing my fingers gently over him. He jumps, almost pulling away from me completely, before pressing his hips closer to mine. I wrap my hand around him, shuddering. He feels incredible. He's so hard right now. I stroke up and down, hoping to feel him get harder, and he moans into our kiss.

I pull my mouth from his, trying to catch my breath. His eyes flutter open, our faces barely a breath apart, and I'm suddenly certain I could come from nothing more than touching him and eye contact. Touching him like this is unreal. It's better than I ever could have imagined. He's so hot in my hand; I swear I can feel the blood pulsing through him. The lines and ridges of him, the things that I could never anticipate, no matter how many fantasies I've had over the years, it all combines to make me feel something rush through me unlike anything I've ever felt before. It's something more than arousal.

My eyes wander down his body, taking in every inch I can find. All of him looks perfect—nicely defined, lots of planes and valleys for me explore at some point. I can feel him tense a little and loosen my grip a hair, reducing the friction, hoping it'll relax him a little bit.

My gaze wanders downward, and I actually moan as I see him for the first time. I like a naked man as much as the next girl, though a fully aroused man's body can sometimes look vaguely aggressive. But Josh…Josh is actually beautiful. He far exceeds my expectations. I run my fingers carefully over the tip of his erection as I rest my head on his shoulder, my free arm holding him close.

"What?" he asks, his voice a little high-pitched and tight. It doesn't seem likely that he's self-conscious or insecure—I don't think he's ever been either of those—but stranger things have happened, I suppose.

I press my face into his neck, biting at the delicate skin there. I like the way he tastes. There's a saltiness, something that I'm sure is a result of stress and moving nonstop all day, but mostly he tastes like Josh. It's not something I've tasted before tonight, but I'd know it anywhere. "I've never been with a Jewish guy before," I answer him, a little amazed to realize that, as odd as it is for me to tell him that, I've never been with a circumcised man before. Fundamentally, it's not that different, and I don't care either way—if it's attached to him and reaches me, I'm happy.

"I've been told we're better lovers than anyone else," he tells me, and I can't help but smile. Always cocky. I feel like he has the goods to back it up this time, too.

I start pumping my hand up and down him again, trying to keep a steady pace. "Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

His hands are on me then, skimming over my body and making my motions falter a little. His hands are magic. He finds my breasts again, his touch less gentle this time. He wraps one arm around me, pulling me closer, and his other hand slides down my stomach. I move my hand on him faster as his fingers slide beneath my underwear. My heart feels like it's going to pound out my chest. If he doesn't touch me soon—

"Holy shit," he says suddenly, his voice much lower than normal, and my entire body shivers as his fingers brush lightly over me. My hips push toward him, trying to get more.

"Yes," I gasp. Yes to everything. Yes to the way this feels, yes to the way he's touching me, yes to more of it, just…yes. He moves his fingers a little more, adding a bit more pressure, exploring more of me. He can have no doubts about just how much I want him right now.

"Holy _shit_ ," he says again, and I feel one of his fingers sliding into me. It takes every ounce of control I have not to squeeze his erection in response; I would definitely do more harm than good right now. He pushes another finger into me and I almost collapse, letting out a long breath at the sensation. I readjust my legs, giving him more access, and he wastes no time thrusting his fingers in and out of me in short, firm strokes. I grip onto his back tightly, pumping my other hand faster up and down his shaft. My hips start to thrust against his touch, trying to get closer to him. Nothing has ever felt like this before, and if just standing here like this feels this good, I can only imagine what the main event is going to be like.

I shiver from head to toe with anticipation.

He buries his face my neck, his breath coming out in deep, heavy gasps. His fingers curl a little, finding different spots within me, and my knees literally shake. I moan—loudly—and lift my head. His own head pops up a moment later, our mouths meeting in a desperate kiss. There can be no question at this point, either; I _am_ desperate. Not desperate in the way that I just want to have sex with any willing body, but desperate for Josh. Desperate for more of the way he's making me feel. I need him more than I need air right now.

I release my hold on his erection, wrapping my arms around him. He keeps his hand shoved down my panties, his hand moving a little faster, his tongue moving against mine at the same pace. It's exquisite. I grab onto his shoulders and shove him away, almost laughing at the look on his face as he lands on the bed. His erection twitches and bobs, pointed straight up in the air at attention. This has got to happen— _now_. I lean over him, planting my hands on the bed next to his hips, close enough so that my breasts rub against his chest, though it does nothing to release the tension in every square inch of my body. I'm on the verge of telling him to take me—to do whatever he wants with me—when a small dose of reality hits me. Protection. We need something. Though honestly, at this point, it probably wouldn't be a deal breaker. I get a shot every few months, I know he's clean, and there are certainly a whole lot of other things we can do without a condom. Still…

"Do you have any condoms?" I manage to ask.

"Huh?" he answers, and even in the darkness, I can see how hazy his eyes are, that all his blood has redirected south and has nothing to spare for higher brain functions.

"Do you have any condoms?" All he does is blink at me, and I start to feel oddly self-conscious, wondering if he has some weird quirk about wearing them. "I have some in my room." I've had them since the day we first kissed and my failed attempted to get him into bed. I don't relish the idea of putting my clothes back on to go get them, but I'll absolutely do it if I have to. "I can run and get them if—"

"I have some!" he exclaims suddenly, gesturing toward the bureau. "They're, you know…" I nod, forcing myself to stand up straight, watching as he nearly leaps over to the small chest of drawers, pulling all of them open as he searches. I run my hands through my hair before I tug at my underwear, shifting my hips as I push it down my legs. Just as I'm tossing them with the rest of my clothes, Josh wraps himself around me, nearly knocking me over with the force of it. I can see a box of condoms land on the bed out of my peripheral vision, but his hands running over my completely bare body distract me. His hands grab onto my ass, pulling me closer to him. I make a noise at the feel of it, trying to get closer.

"Take yours off, too," I tell him. I can't stand here naked much longer without him doing the same. I need the full skin-to-skin contact. He answers without hesitation, pushing his boxers down his legs and then tossing them onto the bed. He reaches for me but I step away from him, grabbing the box of condoms. I need to distract myself. I'm afraid if I see him completely naked I'll actually throw him on the bed and ravish him, safety be damned. I manage to pull out one of the little foil packets, handing the rest to him. He stares at me, seemingly waiting for instructions. "Get on the bed."

He complies immediately and I can't help but marvel for a few moments at how willing he is to do what I tell him. I suppose I should have realized this years ago, but if I'd known it could be this easy to get him to pay attention, I might have suggested we get naked a lot sooner.

He puts the box of condoms in the nightstand; my breath catches as I take him, this completely naked man. He's absolutely beautiful. He makes my knees turn to jelly. He ignites a fire in me that no one else ever has. I want him in a way I've never wanted anything before in my life. I crawl onto the bed next to him, molding myself to his side. I bury my face in his neck again, sucking at his skin hard enough to leave marks. Some crazy, primal part of me wants to mark him in some way, to let anyone wondering know he's mine, even if it's only for tonight. I reach out, finding his erection again, running my fingers over the tip, spreading around the moisture I find there. He hisses, almost sounding like he's in pain. He grabs my leg and pulls me onto his lap. I suck at his neck for a few more seconds before I sit up, adjusting myself across his legs. His eyes run over me, completely unabashed, his hands gripping onto my thighs. I slide closer, trapping him between our bodies, and I'm not sure which one of us moans louder. The friction is unbelievable.

He grabs my ass again, holding me tightly to him, and our hips start thrusting in response. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, kissing him again. It's completely different from earlier—there's nothing slow or tentative about it. It's frantic and desperate and lewd and completely amazing. I think I'll actually have bruises on my lips when this is all over.

I feel his hand on my stomach, stroking my skin just for a moment before he moves between my thighs. My entire body jumps as his fingers brush over me a few times, and then again as he pushes them inside me. I drop my head to his shoulder, thrusting against his hand, my hips moving in a steady back-and-forth motion. I can hear myself moaning softly into his skin and he tightens his other hand on me, pulling me closer. His fingers shift, moving against my g-spot and I sit up straight, my entire body going tense for a few seconds. I almost come undone then. I push myself into him, arching and moaning like a porn star. "Oh, my God, Josh!" I exclaim, tightening myself around his fingers. He moves them again, rubbing against that spot inside me and I swear that I wail, thrusting against his touch. He may not have the best track record with women but I can tell this much for sure—it's not for lack of trying on his part. Not if this is any indication. He found a place in me that makes me make a noise I wasn't really aware I could produce and doesn't venture away. It seems like such a simple thing, but in my experience, most guys will keep wandering around, kind of ignoring what's working and looking for something that might work better. That method can have merit, but I really prefer the tack Josh is taking.

I sit up suddenly and launch myself at him, kissing him. I don't want to think even a little bit about him with other women, or how he learned what he's doing. I just want this. I push myself away from him a moment later, feeling strangely empty as I leave his apparently magical fingers behind. I see the bathroom light glinting mutely off the condom wrapper and grab it, holding it up to him. "You want me to do it?" He shakes his head immediately, taking it from me and tearing it open, rolling it down his shaft in one fluid motion. It's oddly fascinating to watch.

I push myself to my knees and inch forward, positioning myself just above his erection, and I'm hit with a strange sensation. This is it. This is the moment. All these years of pining after him will be over; all the mystery will be gone. Maybe, though, I'm not that worried about that. I think this is one mystery that I'm ready to solve. But this is Josh. _Josh_. We're about to have actual sex. This is going to happen. It's going to change everything.

He puts his hands on my hips, preventing me from sinking down on him. "Are you sure?" he whispers, his voice strangled, but full of concern and affection. I don't know if he saw something on my face or if he just wants to me to be sure about this, but it makes my heart flutter in an entirely different way. This may be a big deal but he's still the sweet guy I've known for years, the one who would do anything for his friends…the one who dropped everything and flew across the globe to sit at my bedside.

Yeah. I'm sure.

I take his face in my hands, making sure he can see my eyes. "Yes," I answer simply, and he takes a deep breath, guiding me down to meet him. A moment later, I feel him pushing into me and let out a sigh, relaxing my body. I shift and lift up again, sliding down him a little more this time. It's been a while since I last did this—about a year and a half, actually. I always forget it can take some time to readjust. His fingers dig into my hips but he doesn't try to force me down. His jaw is clenched and there are beads of sweat on his forehead, but he lets me take the lead. I push myself up again, changing my angle slightly as I come back down, my eyes falling shut as I sink all the way down. He fills me completely—not at all to the breaking point, but definitely enough. I feel him everywhere, and not just in a literal sense. My insides tremble and I bite my lip, my thighs gripping onto him. I _have_ to hold onto him, or else I think I might break into a million pieces.

I feel his lips on me again, kissing and sucking and biting his way from my shoulder to my throat. It's probably agony for him, but he doesn't do anything more than that, waiting, I assume, for me to be ready. I wrap my arms around him, pushing away from him just a little until I can see his face. I want to tell him that I'm more than ready, that I've been ready for a long time, but I have no words. All I can do is give him a little nod. He thrusts up to me and I push against him; we fall into sync within moments.

We move slowly, watching each other. His fingers dig into my hips, his body shaking a little from the strain. I hold onto him as tightly as my fingers allow. This feels…perfect. It's such a clichéd word for what we're doing, but it's the only thing that comes to mind. It feels right and natural and good and how things are supposed to be.

I change my angle, pushing against him a little faster. His hands move to my ass, holding on tightly as he matches my thrusts. The look on his face is indescribable. I can see a million different things there, the soft light hitting his face just enough so that I can see it all. His eyes all but sparkle at me, glittering like dark jewels. I feel one of his hands on my neck pulling me to him, and I moan as the angle changes a little. It's not quite my g-spot, but it's close enough that I can feel tiny sparks of electricity zapping through me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of working on some other stuff right now. I have something I'm working on in bits and pieces that may or may not be part of my head cannon/personal universe, but might be worth a read anyway. I've got stuff to type up at some point, too. I've had some vague ideas for more of Chip Reader, which I posted over a year ago, so we'll see if that comes to fruition. I've got another bit of my head cannon that I think I want to put out there some point because it seems that Josh and Donna are my dumping ground/test subjects. I have an idea and I throw it at them to see if it sticks.


	4. Chapter 4

"Is this real?" he breathes, his lips hardly parting from mine, and I honestly have no idea. I don't know what's real at this point, or what's fantasy, if we're having some combined dream, or even if I'm going to wake up alone in my hotel room, my hand between my thighs, trying desperately to find some sort of relief from all this wanting.

"I have no idea," I say. He blinks at me, seemingly as surprised as I feel to be so unsure of reality. We stop thrusting then, staring at each other as our chests heave. It's intense, this feeling of not knowing what's up or down, what's real or make believe.

He runs his fingers through my hair, pushing it off my shoulders, and I feel myself smile at him. Everything snaps back into place. Of course this is real. Not a single fantasy has ever felt like this. He grins at me in response, pulling me in for another kiss. His hands move to the small of my back, pulling me toward him with renewed vigor. I gasp as he hits a few other spots, almost biting through his lip at the intensity of it. I push against him as hard as I can, grinding my hips against his with every thrust.

It's amazing. I wrap an arm around his neck as he holds me to him, his hips rocking back and forth against me. I brace one of my hands on his knee, my back arching involuntarily as I moan loudly. I'm vaguely aware that someone in a neighboring room probably heard that, but I can't bring myself to care. Let them hear it. Let the entire campaign staff hear it. Let them press their ears to the walls and giggle to themselves about what they think is just two people having sex, that we're only releasing a little bit of pressure. That's not it at all. I suppose that, yes, at its core, we are just two people having sex, but no one can know how much more it is. They can't know that it's something deeper and much more profound, something that has no words but is full of meaning. They don't know that it's two people finding each other, finding their way to each other, after years of searching and struggling and suppressing. And it doesn't matter to me if they know it. It doesn't matter to me what they assume. I know what this is. Josh probably does, too.

I feel a tingling deep inside of me, and I'm honestly not sure what it is. I rotate my hips against his, reveling in the friction. His mouth wraps around one of my nipples, sucking at it so hard that it's almost painful—almost, but not quite. His teeth and tongue work in tandem, scraping hard enough to make me shiver, then lapping at me softly enough to make me melt. "Josh," I whimper, and he wraps his arms tighter around me, moving to my other breast. He suckles at that one, too, moaning softly, the sensation making me crazy. I've never been opposed to a partner paying attention to my breasts, but I've never considered them to be one of my key erogenous zones. Apparently, no one has ever done it right. Josh could teach a master class in nipple play and probably make a mint. I'm not sure how he'd advertise for something like that, but as long as I benefit from his beautiful mouth, I don't really care.

I start to move up and down his length, the sensation completely different than the grinding thing we've been doing, though the end result is the same. My senses are on overload. Everything is tingling and contracting, the feeling that's been low in my stomach beginning to blossom outward. It seems ridiculous to realize it now of all times, but I suddenly know an orgasm is inevitable. I don't know that I've ever had an orgasm during first time sex. Usually, there are too many nerves at play, and I, if I let myself get too far in my own head, often start to feel self-conscious about what I'm doing, wondering if I'm moaning too much, or not enough, if I'm making weird faces, that sort of thing. Orgasms usually come with becoming comfortable with someone.

I guess that's the key. This may be the first time we've had sex, and we may have spent the better part of a year apart from each other, but I know him too well to really worry about any of that. He takes me as I am, and I do the same for him.

His thumb brushes over me, pushing down gently, and my eyes fly open. My entire body freezes as I stare at him, and I could swear the entire earth stops for a few seconds. Nothing moves…except his thumb. The air leaves my lungs in a _whoosh_ and I grind against him furiously. "Oh, my God. Oh, my _God!_ Oh, yes. Yes yes yes yes yes . Oh, Josh. Josh, right there. Right _there!_ " I'm sort of aware that I'm yelling, and I know that's not something I normally do. Not at this volume, at any rate. I can't control it, though, no more than I can control the way my body is moving right now.

I grab his face and pull him in, kissing him as best I can. It's mostly unsuccessful as we try to breathe and our constant motion and the fact that I can't stop moaning, but I can't get close enough to him. I don't know if I can ever be close enough to him.

"Josh," I gasp. Something inside of me snaps as he presses his thumb into me and I feel like I'm literally falling off a cliff. "Oh, God. Josh—I'm going—I'm about— _ohhhhhhh!_ " I lose control of my body, instinct and sensation taking over as I thrust and pump and push. My eyes lock with his; my hands grasp at his back, trying to hold on. I'm exploding, shattering…falling apart. "Ahhhhhh!" I cry out as he rubs his thumb against me furiously, breaking me into a million tinier pieces. It's too much. I never want it to end. I'm not going to survive it. "Josh," I whisper, burying my face in his neck as I buck furiously. "Josh, Josh, Josh, ohhhhh yes." His thumb never stops moving, creating friction that's going to make me insane. I don't ever want him to stop. I want him to feel as incredible as I feel right now. I keep pushing against him, my movements uncoordinated now, and clench my inner muscles around him. He gasps, groaning, mumbling incoherently.

"You," I tell him, my voice faint and weak, and I wrap myself around him. "You."

He makes a noise in response, his muscles tensing beneath me. His hand tightens on me, pulling me against him furiously. I lift my head and smile at him, running a hand through his hair, and he comes apart before my eyes. His face contorts, his hips lifting off the bed for a few seconds as his entire body goes taught. The cords in his neck stand out. He moves his hand from between my thighs, holding onto me as his hips move in quick, powerful strokes. " _Donna!_ " he yells, his head falling back. I ride him as best I can at this point, hoping he feels as good as I do. He lets out a noise louder than mine and what I can only describe as a roar just as he presses his face into my chest.

His hips jerk against me, weaker suddenly, and he hugs me to him. I can feel his breath hitting my skin, coming in quick, short bursts. I stroke his hair for a few moments before I cup his cheeks, making him lift his head. I smile before leaning in to kiss him. Our mouths move slowly against each other with no purpose other than to be close. I move my hands over his damp skin, tracing vague patterns anywhere I can reach. His hands explore my body, too, his touch soft and reverent, sending chills down my spine. I can still feel him inside of me, and even though he's deflated a bit, it feels amazing.

I make an unhappy noise as I shift from him a little, knowing that he needs to take off the condom before it gets gross. I slide off his lap, feeling empty without him in me. My heart is still pounding a million miles a minute and I actually feel lightheaded. Everything is spinning and swirling, like when you were a kid and would stick out your arms and twirl in a circle until you couldn't stand it anymore, then drop to the grass to watch the sky tilt around you. I stretch my body, the parts of me that haven't been used in some time already pleasantly sore. I drop onto the bed, stretching everything out again, and a moment later, his arm is wrapped over my stomach, his nose rubbing against my cheek. I turn my head, pressing my lips to his. I try to tell him everything I'm feeling, everything he made me feel tonight.

I reach up, holding onto the back of his head to keep him close to me. His hand slides up and down my side, his fingers paying special attention to my breast for a few long moments before he grabs onto my hip. Despite that, I can feel his body growing more lethargic by the second, everything becoming slack as he kisses me.

This part might feel more surreal than the sex we just had. All the holding and kissing after the act isn't something I would have thought Josh would do. I guess I just figured he'd roll over and pass out, both of us retreating to our corners until…what? We fell asleep that way? Or one of us got up and left?

I realize at that moment that even though his mouth is still pressed against mine, it's no longer moving, and I can't help but smile a little. He's breathing deeply, fast asleep. It's actually kind of cute, especially the way his chin is resting on my shoulder. But, exhausted as I am, I can't get my eyes to shut. I feel like I'm on high alert suddenly, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do now. I would normally assume that I should go to sleep, too, but with Josh…that's hard to say. I don't know what his usual protocol is for a situation like this. Is he going to wake up at some point, irritated that I'm still here? Will he think I'm invading his space? I know we didn't exactly talk about this beforehand, but was tonight just a one-time thing for him? If I'm being honest, I probably gave the impression that I just wanted him for the night. I knew it before this, and I'm even more certain of it now, that a one-night-stand isn't what I want, but can I expect him to be on the same page?

I shiver, suddenly acutely aware that I'm completely naked in someone's hotel room, and sit up carefully, trying not to jostle him. I'm honestly at a loss right now. Should I just get dressed and go back to my room? Maybe that'd be better for him.

His fingertips brush against my back suddenly, and I nearly jump out of my skin. "What's up?" he asks, his voice already gravely with sleep.

"Cold," I tell him, and it's the truth. It may not be the entire truth at the moment, but it's certainly not a lie. He immediately sits up, pulling the blankets from beneath us and maneuvering under them in one surprisingly fluid motion. He holds them up for me, waiting for me to join him. Letting out a little breath, I pull up my legs and slide in next to him, wondering if I should give him space or if being close to him is okay.

His arm drapes over my stomach again, his lips on my shoulder, and it makes me ache all over. I hold onto his arm, running my fingers over the soft hairs that cover it. I turn my head toward his—he blinks at me sleepily, looking completely irresistible. I lean in, pressing my lips to his, sighing as he responds. I don't think I'm any less confused right now. I'm sure I'm putting too much thought into this. I should just go to sleep, even if it's only for a few hours.

We kiss a few more times before I turn onto my side, holding his arm in place. He scoots up behind me, molding his body to mine, and I can feel him relaxing almost instantly. It must be pretty incredible to be a guy right after sex—the ability to pass out almost immediately is quite impressive. Though, I suppose in fairness to Josh, he's gotten about four hours of sleep a night for about a year now. If anyone has a right to be exhausted, it's him.

I sigh, pressing myself into him. His body is warm—very warm—and it's doing a good job of finally making me feel tired. I stare out into the darkened hotel room, feeling sleep slowly crawling through my body, working its way from my extremities inward. I run my fingers over his arm again, trying to enjoy the way he feels next to me. I want to revel in the moment. I want to bask in the afterglow. I think part of me is. The rest of me, though, can't help but wonder what's going to happen next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. Thanks for sticking with me through this. I really have no way to explain how they go from this ending position to how they wake up in Election Day so I hope this will suffice. All I know is I don't like the idea that they might have rolled over after and fallen asleep that way; I'd rather they just did it subconsciously. In case anyone is wondering about the titles of these two stories, it's a Lifehouse song called First Time. Appropriate, no?
> 
> Still have some stuff to get typed up, and ideas to jot down. Haven't started on the Chip Reader part two yet (which, I'm sad to say, will probably be from Josh's POV and not a real sequel), and a story with a couple of bits of my head cannon that I'd like to get out into the world. We'll see how all that goes. I still have one I'm working on typing up while also writing it in a tiny notebook at work. Just trying to keep the juices flowing.

**Author's Note:**

> Figured I ought to get around to posting this one, too. I'm going to try to keep it lined up with Under My Skin, not that this one will have any surprises. Sorry for the delay in posting it—life has been, well, life, and I've been having attacks of insecurity. Don't mind me.


End file.
